


The Beekeeper

by TC (thecollective)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Beekeeping, Flower Crowns, Fluff, Gen, M/M, SO MUCH FLUFF, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff, so fluffy you want to die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 07:51:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecollective/pseuds/TC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock sends John by himself to investigate Hyde Park.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Beekeeper

**Author's Note:**

> Not Brit-picked. All mistakes are my own. Written by the Collectress for the Collectiva Diva. Follow the Collectress on twitter @dearcollectress

**The Beekeeper**

“Sherlock, where are you?”

“What do you see, John?”

“Know what I _don’t_ see? My bloody flatmate!”

“John, focus. Tell me what you see.”

It was just like Sherlock to be late to his own _bloody investigation_. John looked around Hyde Park, but it was the park. There were trees and grass and couples lazing about, and…was that a beekeeper? “Sherlock,” John said, “There’s a beekeeper in Hyde Park. With no bees.”

Sherlock hmmmed. “That is unusual. I suppose you should take a closer look.”

“Seriously, Sherlock? _A beekeeper_? I was supposed to be at the surgery this afternoon!”

“And yet here you are.” Sherlock disconnected with a harsh click. Prat.

Where did the beekeeper go?

John spotted him moving toward the Serpentine and he jogged to catch up. The man had the legs of a gazelle, John was certain. His mobile rang and John cursed. Of course _now_ the detective would arrive. “ _You absolute prat._ Where are you?”

“What is the beekeeper carrying?”

“Wha--?”

“What is he carrying?”

“How do you know it’s a man?”

Sherlock snorted. “Find out what he is carrying.” Click.

Prat.

The beekeeper had stopped under a rather large elm tree. John shuffled as close as he dared, pretending to take pictures of the scenery with his mobile. The man—as Sherlock presumed the beekeeper to be—sat with his back against the tree, reading a copy of…was that Chaucer?

                        To: Prat Flatmate

                              Beekpr w/Chaucer bk. Rlvnt 2 case? –JW

                        To: John Watson

                              No. Keep looking. –SH

                        To: Prat Flatmate

                              what am i lookng 4? –JW

                        To: John Watson

                             You will know when you see it. –SH

John sighed. Prat. He looked back at the beekeeper. How could the man read while wearing that outfit? The net mesh couldn’t be easy to read through. What was that sitting next to him on the grass? A skull? With a flower wreath around it?

                        To: Prat Flatmate

                              Beekpr has skull w/flower crown. Rlvnt? –JW

                        To: John Watson

                             Ask him for it. –SH

                        To: Prat Flatmate

                              U ask him. –JW

                        To: John Watson

                              As I am not there, that would be impossible. Ask him. –SH

                        To: John Watson

                              Please. –SH

Well, Sherlock _did_ say please.

“Sir,” John said to the beekeeper, “May I have a look at your skull?”

The beekeeper handed over the skull without comment, much to John’s surprise.

                        To: Prat Flatmate

                              have skull. now what? –JW

                        To: John Watson

                              Look at it. Obviously. –SH

John turned the skull over. Tucked away inside the skull was a red envelope. He tugged it out. Should he open it? He flipped it over. It was addressed to “John Watson.” He supposed that meant he could open it, so he did.

It was a card.

A _Valentine_.

The front pictured a human heart and the words, “Blood is red. Cyanosis is blue. I get tachycardia when I think of you.” Of course. _Of course_. John laughed. He couldn’t help it. He laughed until tears blurred his vision and his abdominals ached.

                        To: John Watson

                             Open it. –SH

John did, and he read:

 

_John—_

_You may now be silently accusing me of having a flair for the dramatic. I won’t deny it. You’re wondering, but why a beekeeper?_

 John was, in fact, wondering just that.

_The beekeeper is representative of St. Valentine, who appears to not be completely ridiculous as most religious figures are, since he is the patron saint of beekeeping (and epilepsy, as it turns out—Molly assures me that inducing a seizure in public is not commonly considered romantic, however)._

Bless Molly.

_As for the Chaucer book, well, it is widely speculated that the poet invented the holiday._

John hadn’t known that.

_Now you wonder about the skull. Also representative of St. Valentine. His skull is on display in the Basilica of Santa Maria in Roma and is adorned with flowers._

John had halfway been expecting to be asked to wear the flower crown.

_Why would I go to all this trouble for a history lesson?_

Was Sherlock reading his mind? He looked around. No, the detective was nowhere nearby, and the beekeeper (who John strongly suspected of being Lestrade) appeared to have fallen asleep.

_I wouldn’t, John. I did, however, do all of this to make a point to you. One that should be fairly obvious by now, I would think. In case you missed it (as you are wont to do sometimes), let me be clear: will you be my Valentine? (Molly assures me that this is the proper way to state my intentions and no, you do not have to wear the flower crown—although that would make a rather amusing impression) –Sherlock_

John stared at the last sentence. The question. Oh. _Oh._ Alright then.

                        To: Sherlock

                              Yes, you prat. Where are you? –JW

                        To: John Watson

                              Baker Street. –SH

 _Prat_.

                        To: John Watson

                              [picture message attached] –SH

 A picture message? What was Sherlock playing at? He opened it.  _Oh_.

                        To: Sherlock

                               In cab. Be there soon. –JW

                        To: John Watson

                               Happy Valentine’s Day. –SH

 FIN.

 

**Author's Note:**

> For my blogger. Happy Valentine's Day.


End file.
